Witchchild

Dark brows rose over frankly impatient eyes. ‘Ah?’ Hawk Sinclair repeated, dangerously soft, his hands thrust into the pockets of his denims as he glowered down at her from his imposing height of well over six feet. To someone who barely scraped over five feet he just looked huge.

It was a pity she couldn’t take notes of this conversation; she was sure she would never be able to convey all the nuances when she related it to Laura later. Those eyebrows, for example, expressed his feelings exactly every time he spoke.

‘How old are you, Hawk?’ she asked interestedly.

‘How old—–?’ He looked ready to explode. ‘What the hell does my age have to do with any of this?’

‘A lot—if you’re still young enough to be approaching your mid-life crisis rather than having already passed it.’ She eyed him guilelessly.

In the next second he did explode, using all the swear words Leonie knew—and quite a lot that she had never heard before!

‘Are you always this damned kooky?’ he finally calmed down enough to ask. ‘Hal needs his head examined—–’

‘Hal knows a good thing when he sees it,’ she corrected chidingly. ‘You haven’t reached forty yet, then,’ she guessed lightly, glancing sideways as Pop, a smoky-grey cat, strolled through the room to join the white cat in the kitchen.

‘Hal’s age is the one that’s relevant here.’ Silver eyes dared her to pursue whatever subject she might be leading up to with her questions. ‘He’s not even twenty yet, and you’re already twenty-four—–’

‘Twenty-five last month,’ she corrected pertly, her eyes widely innocent as he looked at her fiercely for interrupting.

‘Too old—and too experienced—for Hal,’ he rasped.

‘Do you really think so?’ Leonie sat forward on the edge of her seat, looking very youthful with her rich red shoulder-length hair curling loosely about her make-upless face, her green T-shirt moulding the slender delicacy of her childlike body, the tight-fitting denims making her legs look longer than they actually were.

‘Not the way you look right now, no,’ he conceded, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Did Hal call you and let you know I’d probably be coming to see you today?’

She wished he had! ‘The last time Hal mentioned your whereabouts you were in Nassau.’

‘That was over a week ago!’

Leonie shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, Hal and I haven’t really spoken a great deal.’

Hawk drew in a harshly angry breath, towering over her threateningly, his hands at his sides now, clenching and unclenching. ‘Do you get some cheap thrill out of telling me you’re too busy sleeping with my son to bother with conversation?’ A nerve pulsed at his jaw.

‘I realise you’re having trouble accepting Hal’s maturity because it makes you feel old, but—–’

‘The only thing I feel when I think of the two of you together is angry!’ he grated.

‘Because knowing your son is involved in an intimate relationship forces you to acknowledge that he’s grown-up—–’

‘When did you qualify as a psychiatrist?’ Hawk Sinclair demanded viciously.

Leonie relaxed back in her chair, lifting her feet up to rest on the cushion beneath her, her arms wrapped about her knees. ‘I didn’t,’ she said without rancour. ‘However, I am an observer of life.’

‘Well, I wish you’d do your observing a thousand miles away from my son!’ He glared at her.

She observed him curiously. ‘Did you know you have the most expressive eyebrows? They define your every mood. They’d make a fascinating characteristic for one of the people in our books—–’

‘If I ever recognise anyone even remotely like myself in one of your books you’ll live to regret it!’ he warned savagely.

Leonie sat forward eagerly, her chin resting on her knees. ‘Have you ever read any of our books?’ she asked.

‘Fourth-rate detective novels aren’t my favourite choice of literature,’ he said with contempt. ‘They obviously aren’t making you a fortune either, otherwise you wouldn’t need to take advantage of Hal’s youthful naïveté in this way.’

‘Hal was never naïve, not even in the cradle,’ she dismissed reprovingly. ‘He’s too much like you.’

‘Thanks—I think,’ drawled Hawk Sinclair dryly.

‘And our books aren’t fourth-rate,’ she defended indignantly. ‘Leonaura Brandon is very popular.’

‘You may well be,’ he dismissed with impatience. ‘Personally I can’t stand books where everyone ends up getting murdered and the butler did it!’

Leonie shook her head. ‘No one ever gets murdered in our books.’

‘Then how the hell can they be murder books?’

‘They aren’t,’ she shrugged. ‘Not every detective investigates murders.’

He gave an irritated sigh. ‘Miss Brandon, I asked you how much you want to get out of—–Why the hell do you keep saying our books?’ He gave a dark scowl at the realisation that his curiosity about her had once again diverted him from his purpose of buying her out of Hal’s life.

‘My sister and I co-author them,’ she explained lightly. ‘Leonie and Laura—Leon-aura,’ she provided.

‘Let’s leave your sister out of this—–’

‘Oh, I don’t think we can do that,’ she told him thoughtfully. ‘You see, I’m Leonie.’

Angry disbelief claimed the hard contours of his face, his eyes were silver slits. ‘You mean you aren’t—you’re not—–’

Leonie realised she was probably witnessing history being made, seriously doubting that Hawk Sinclair had ever before been rendered speechless. ‘I mean you’ve been trying to buy off the wrong sister,’ she confirmed ruefully. ‘Laura is the one who’s been dating Hal, as I’m sure you know.’

‘You—I—–’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she offered as angry colour darkened his cheeks. ‘Your blood-pressure—–’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my blood-pressure!’ he finally managed to burst out.

‘Except that it’s rising,’ Leonie told him calmly. ‘You really should learn to relax—–’

‘Relax!’ he repeated harshly. ‘I’ve been trying to reason with a child when I meant to bargain with a mercenary, and you tell me to relax!’

‘Laura and I are twins,’ she chided his reference to her age, bending to stroke Pop as he left the kitchen after eating his lunch.

Hawk became suddenly still and, if anything, more dangerous. ‘You mean there’s another one just like you running around loose somewhere?’

Her mouth quirked. ‘Not quite.’

‘How “not quite"?’ He was eyeing her now as if he thought he might need to make an escape at any moment.

He really did look worried, poor man! ‘Laura and I are identical. But only in looks,’ Leonie added consolingly as he gave a pained groan. ‘I’m the only kooky one,’ she added mischievously.